


Stray dog in Gotham

by mynamescarnival



Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: Abuse, After Movie Timeline, Angst, Arkham Asylum, Character Death, Drama, Eating Disorders, Emotional Abuse, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Gotham City - Freeform, Gruesome Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Just romance/fluff, Mental Illness, Mild Language, More tags later, Psychological Drama, Reader comforts Arthur, Romance With Plot, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Violence, joker x reader - Freeform, mental health, no smutt, past trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:08:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29070828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynamescarnival/pseuds/mynamescarnival
Summary: It's been a full year since Murray Franklin was shot dead. Exactly a year ago, on this day, Arthur Fleck had unintentionally caused the riot responsible for city-wide hysteria. On his "anniversary" Arthur Fleck has managed to escape Arkham Asylum, and is now roaming freely among Gotham's residence. While the news stations blow things out of proportion, causing unease and fear in everyone, you're thrown head-first into the chaos when you have a run-in with the man himself. Gotham's Joker.
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/You, Joker (DCU)/Reader
Kudos: 14





	1. The news is out

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoy ^_^ Feel free to leave comments if you have questions or suggestions! I'll be trying to upload a chapter a day, sometimes multiple.

You opened your eyes, being met with your TV screen. Those aching shoulders, that sore back and the feeling of itchiness alerted you instantly. You had fallen asleep on your couch last night, again. With a groan, you forced yourself to sit up. A terrible taste lingered on your tongue. A terrible, familiar taste. The taste of another persons mouth, their breath staining your tongue. You squeezed your eyes shut once you remembered. You had gotten drunk last night, and brought a stranger home from the bar. You always made the worst decisions when you were plastered.

You hadn't remembered anything else of the night, but you weren't too worried about that at the moment. You wanted nothing more than to wash away the regret that spoiled your gums. You walked into your bathroom, the smallest and most miserable room of the entire house. Mold found it's way into the corners of the room, and you always managed to get your socks wet due to the leaking ceiling. The bucket you had placed under the leak was full, and had overflowed. Great. More things for you to do. More things that your landlord should be doing. 

After brushing your teeth and running a comb through your hair, you carried on with the rest of your routine. It was a simple ritual that you followed religiously. Drinking a cup of coffee as you watched the news. The news in Gotham was never good. Even the feel-good stories that they'd always show at the end were clearly rushed in at last minute. You supposed it was hard, in this city, for them to find heart-warming stories to end on a high note.

You crossed your legs as you took a sip of your coffee. You had wrapped your thin, yet comforting blanket around your shoulders. You switched the channel to the news station, taking another gulp of your coffee. Ah great, more rat problems. "Several residence of Gotham City have called in to report sightings of these so called "mega-rats". One woman claimed that this mega-rat was as big as her Maine Coon. We reached out to animal control for comment, which they refuse to give at this time." 

You weren't phased by this news. Gotham was the ugliest, filthiest, most wretched city to ever thrive among man. It was sad that hearing word of a giant mega-rat wasn't an alarming surprise to you. There were so many rats in this city, some with long tails who slid through sewers, others with two legs, living among everyone. There were too many rats in this city to worry about. You yawned, pausing once you saw the next news story.

"Gotham's so-called "Joker" has made a sudden escape from Arkham Asylum, where he has been kept the past year for the tragic murder of five people, one of which was Murray Franklin, who he shot dead live during the Murray Franklin Show." You leaned in closer to the TV, studying it. They replayed that famous footage, the footage that everyone in Gotham has seen a million times over. You were rather numb to it at this point, but it was still chilling to see. You always wondered, what pushed him to that point? What pushed him to the point of killing three men, his own mother, and his supposed "favorite host"? They never seemed to dig into the reasons WHY he did what he did, and only ever talked about how horrible it was. 

"Some of you may know that it was exactly a year ago today when he murdered Murray Franklin in cold blood. This is why it is especially alarming that he chose this day to escape. The Police department is speculating that he may be planning another rampage." You unfolded your legs, sitting your coffee down on your table. You felt slightly uneasy, knowing he was somewhere in Gotham right now. You didn't fear him as much as the rest of the city did, but, after all, he did kill five people. You did have something to fear, right? 

"Gotham's Police department is doing everything in it's power to find this sick criminal and put him back in Arkham Asylum, where he belongs. He is dangerous, and as rabid as a feral hound. While we don't wish for Gotham City's residence to be full of anxiety and fear, we do ask that you are cautious and alert of your surroundings at all times. We would also like to inform you all that anyone who is caught planning, or partaking in riot's linked to Arthur Fleck's escape will be met with tear gas, if not more. We will not stand idly by while Gotham is destroyed, and what happened that night brought so much damage and chaos in the streets that we've taken the extra steps needed to ensure nothing like that ever happens again." 

Your stomach twisted when you heard the man refer to him as a "feral hound", though you weren't sure why. He was a dangerous criminal, and completely insane, but for some reason you always found yourself feeling sorry for him. He must have gone through something really terrible to be messed up to such a high degree. You couldn't even imagine yourself being in his shoes, how it'd feel. Many people in Gotham were cheering for him, rooting for him, using him as a rebellious symbol. But, the majority of people hated him, and viewed him as an example of why Gotham needs it's streets cleaned of thugs and scum. You weren't sure how to feel. 

"Arkham Officials have not yet figured out how he escaped. One of the Guard's in charge of looking after the maximum security cell's in Arkham Asylum simply arrived one morning to find him missing from his cell. What's interesting, is, the security cameras were down for a whopping seven minutes and twenty seconds the night prior to his escape, which Officials speculate have something to do with it. If that is true, it would mean that somebody from the inside, somebody on the staff team, aided in his escape. A full-blown investigation as to how this happened has been put on pause, while all available resources are focused on tracking him down before he can do anymore serious damage." 

You raised a brow, before running your fingers through your hair. Who would help him escape, and why? What would they get out of it? Your head swam with questions. Questions that, most likely, would not be answered any time soon. You sighed, finishing up your coffee and turning the TV off. You figured that nothing else was interesting enough to top that news story. 

It was your one day off, and you were going to make the most of it. It seemed like every day off you got was spent in the house, curled up on your couch. Well, not today. You were going to make the most of today. In this rancid city full of fuck-heads, degenerates, shit, and scum, there was one place that always managed to make you forget that you even lived in that wretched city you called home. There sat a little diner a couple blocks from your apartment, a diner that had been there since you was just a kid. You had a lot of good memories in that diner, no bad ones that you could remember, and you were going to treat yourself today. Sure, you didn't have a lot of money, but you had enough to spare for breakfast. You rarely ever went out, rarely ever treated yourself, and something about today made you want to do that.

You put on your grey jacket, slipped on your pants and shoved your feet into your worn-down sneakers. You really needed to buy new shoes, but couldn't afford it at the moment. You tied your hair up in a messy bun, put your keys in your pocket, and headed out the door. The apartment you lived in was filthy, probably because nobody cared enough to clean it up. You were thinking of volunteering yourself and at the very least wiping down the walls. Unless you were rich, nobody in this hellhole gave a shit about you, at least not people with the power to do anything. 

As you walked down the street, you saw a couple of people in clown masks on the corner, signs and all. They were yelling, protesting. A couple of cops stood idly by in case things got out of hand. It seems that the news was spreading around quickly. For some reason, every time you saw people protesting you felt a twinge of excitement in your stomach. You were rather ashamed to admit it, but the night of that city-wide riot, you were watching from afar, and you were loving it. Cop cars going up in flames, smoke bombs being thrown from every street corner. It excited you to think about, all of the chaos. You put your hands in your pockets and kept walking. 

You noticed that the street was closed off, probably had something to do with the search for Arthur. Sadly enough, you had to get through in order to get to the diner. The only other way around would be through an alleyway, which you hated walking through. They were always dimly lit, moist, and crawling with filth. You sighed, turning the corner and stepping into the alley. There were two men in the alleyway. One stood and eyed you with a smirk, a toothpick hanging from his lips. Possibly a drug addict, judging from his arms. The other was leaning against the wall, a newspaper obscuring his face. All you could see was the curl of smoke that swirled above his head, probably from a cigarette. 

You kept your head down low as you walked, not wanting to cause a lot of attention to yourself. You knew what happened to girls like you on the street.  
As you walked passed, the first guy stopped you. He grabbed your arm, and you could clearly see the indentions of needles riddling his skin. You gasped under your breath and looked up. He smiled, applying pressure to your arm as he held you. "Hey sweetheart.." He mumbled, the smell of beer rolling fresh off his tongue. "You know, y'should mind yourself in alleys like this.." He gripped onto you, to which you responded with a tug of your arm, freeing yourself. "I will. Thanks." You said simply, beginning to walk forward. 

He stepped in front of you, stopping you in your tracks, staring at you drunkingly. You tried to step around him, but he inched closer to you, eying your every feature, practically undressing you with his eyeballs. "Slow your roll..whereya going..?" He asked, slurring each word as it slithered out of his disgusting mouth. "Nowhere. Just getting a bite to eat." You said, as you managed to push passed him. This must have really pissed him off. 

"You fucking cunt! Don't push me!" He yelled, spitting in your face in the process. He grabbed you by the hair, pushing you into the wall. You yelped in pain, your head knocking against the brick wall. You were dazed, and it took a few seconds for you to recover from the sudden blow. He was hovering over you, licking his lips. You kicked your feet out, managing to snag him right in the knee as you attempted to get up. It all happened so fast, it was like a blur. He cursed, kicking you right in the stomach in response. The breath was knocked out of you, and the sudden brute force to your stomach made you vomit onto the ground. He smiled, and as you tried to scramble to your feet, he pressed his foot down into your stomach. You squealed in pain, but you knew nobody was going to come to the rescue. He got to his knees, holding you down and pushing you down into the concrete. 

"Hey!" You heard someone yell. He turned around, and was met with a bullet to the chest. Blood cascaded out of him and onto you, it must have killed him instantly. You laid in shock as his bleeding body slumped onto you. Eventually, you snapped out of it, and realized there was a bleeding man on top of you. You screamed, pushing him off of you. You got to your knees, and forced yourself to your feet. The man had thrown his newspaper onto the ground and began to run away from the scene. Your jacket was soaked in blood from that disgusting pervert, so you quickly took it off and threw it on the ground. Nobody had came yet, nobody even came to check if everything was alright. That was Gotham for you. 

Your brain was telling you to call the police, report what had happened, right away. But your instincts were telling you to run after that stranger. You wanted to thank him for possibly saving your life. You just had to, there was no question about it. "Wait!" You yelled, trying to follow after. He had turned the corner already, and you were out of breath from your recent attack. You stopped, looking into the distance. Who was that guy? 

.

.

.

You had returned home after calling the police and explaining the situation. They didn't care too much. They were all too focused on catching that..Joker. You couldn't exactly blame them. You sighed, flopping onto your bed, your sore stomach a painful reminder of that beating you took today. Then you remembered the man who saved you. You pondered for ages, it seemed. Wondering who he was. Why would anyone bother saving a nobody like me? Gotham wasn't full of many selfless people, if any. This guy must have been something else. Too bad you'll probably never find out who it was, though. You rolled onto your side, closing your eyes. It was still pretty early into the day, but you were exhausted. Maybe you could go to the diner another day.


	2. Your shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone seems to keep following you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter. If you have any comments or suggestions or feedback let me know ^_^

"We're gonna need you to take on the nightshift tonight. Is that a problem?" Your boss asked, not making eye contact with you as he browsed the sign-in sheet. His tone indicated that, despite asking you if it was an issue, he expected you to go through with it. You didn't really have a say in the matter, anyway. He could easily find a replacement for you, and you wanted to prove that you could take on extra hours. Maybe, if you kept up this shit-show for long enough, you'd get a raise. 

"It's no problem," you folded your hands in front of you, a sigh hanging from the back of your throat. You would save it for later. 

His attention drew to your pocket, sitting the papers down. He raised a brow and pointed to it. "The fuck is that in your pocket?" You titled your head before touching your pocket, this smiling in embarrassment. "It's nothing, Sir. Just pepper spray." You clenched the back of your teeth. "Alright, don't be pullin' that out dilly dally and causing an accident. I can't afford to get a lawsuit, you hear?" You nodded in understanding, just thankful that he decided not to take it away from you. You felt a lot safer with it on. 

You worked at a struggling restaurant, tucked away out of sight from most of the people in Gotham. It was an irrelevant place to say the least, and a busy day there usually consisted of no more than 30 people. Because of this, you were barely paid. Sometimes, your boss didn't pay anyone, and pooled in the money to make repairs. If you were ever to learn of a new job opening somewhere, no matter what it may be, you'd take up the offer without hesitation. Working here was depressing, it made you sick to your stomach.

Forcing a smile, you served your tables, and tried to keep up a perky attitude in the process. Just because you were miserable, didn't mean that other people needed to be. You didn't want anyone to feel uncomfortable, or like they did something wrong. You approached a table with two angry parents and a small child, no more than three years old. You sat down their plates and their drinks, asking if they needed anything else. The child slapped the glass of water off of the table, making it splash all over you. 

You looked down. The water was... red. It wasn't water, it was blood. There was blood all over you. You looked at your hand, a gasp escaping your lips. It was coated in fresh blood, dripping onto the floor. You suddenly felt very heavy, as if something had fallen on you. A scream was caught in your throat, lumping up, it couldn't escape. You felt as if you were going to choke and suffocate on it. 

"Ma'am?" The woman said, a puzzled and slightly concerned expression on her face. It dawned on you. You looked down again, and found only water soaking your clothes this time. Ice cold water..   
"I said we're sorry. Is there anything I can do?" The woman asked, an understanding look on her face. You smiled, nodding your head no, and assured them that it was alright. You dried yourself quickly with a towel and walked outside for a cigarette break. 

You took a puff, thinking to yourself. What the fuck had happened back there? Why did you see blood on yourself the first time around? Maybe it was just something wrong with your eyes. You pondered, taking another puff before drawing the cigarette to your side and flicking the ash off. "Maybe it was my head.." you thought to yourself. After all, you did hit your head really hard the other day. You'd go to the doctor, but you couldn't afford anything like that right now, and it wasn't an emergency anyway. 

You now felt eyes peering into you. Your first thought was that it was one of the guys you work with, you knew there was one who was interested in you. You smiled, turning around. "Not so subtle, huh?" You looked. You saw somebody quickly duck behind the corner, so quickly you couldn't catch a glimpse of their face. Weird..what was going on? You weren't one to be very suspicious or paranoid. You narrowed your gaze, looking at the corner of the building. "Hello?" You stepped closer. The sound of footsteps hurrying away caught your attention. Was somebody watching you? 

You had felt this same feeling on your way to work this morning. Earlier that day, when you were walking to work, you recalled turning around several times because you felt like somebody was walking behind you. Every time you'd turn around, there'd be nobody there. Well, you knew you weren't delusional or anything, so there had to be somebody.

You decided to follow after. It was dangerous and stupid, but you needed to know who was following you around. You thought for certain that it had something to do with that guy attacking you. Could one of his friends be following you around? Your mind raced as you ran different scenarios in your head. You could get really hurt by following after this person if it were true. However, you wanted to get to the bottom of it. 

You turned the corner, looking. There was nothing but garbage bags and trashcans back here, but you weren't convinced in the slightest. You know what you saw, and you weren't going to have anyone tell you that you were crazy. You walked forward, scanning the place for any signs of someone. It was disgustingly moist back here, from the previous rain. You could partially make out some footprints in the muck, leading to the back. You bit your tongue as you contemplated following. What if something went south with whoever this was? Well, you did have pepper spray. You gulped down the hard to swallow pill that was your fear and followed the vague footprints. 

Your break was fifteen minutes long, so you had to be back before then. You followed the muddy prints down another alleyway. The footprints eventually stopped, as the muck had probably worn off on them, but you could guess where they led. On the side of the building you found yourself beside, there was a safety ladder attached to the brick wall that somebody was too lazy to put up. Were you really going to climb a ladder just to see who had been following you? It could be nothing, after all. Could be a bored kid. Could be nothing at all. Or.. it could be someone dangerous. Were you really going to go to a high space with a dangerous stalker out of sight where nobody could see you? You were. 

You tugged at the ladder. It seemed sturdy enough, and hopefully wouldn't fall if you put your weight on it. With a tight grip, you began to climb. You never were really afraid of heights, thankfully. It wasn't too high up, either. You were almost at the top before you started to get cold feet, realizing the situation. If you went up here, and the person following you WAS dangerous, you risk the chance of not coming back down alive. You didn't have a death wish, so you probably shouldn't be doing this. You sighed, looking down. Wow, turns out it was higher than you thought. You should hurry up and get back to work. 

You put a foot down to start climbing back down the ladder, but something wouldn't let you. It felt like your mission was incomplete, and you were unsatisfied. It felt like you were watching some kind of movie, and right before the exciting climax the main character backs out of it. There was a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach, weighing you down, making you want to climb down that ladder and turn back to your mundane life. But at the same time, something nipped and nagged at you, beckoning you to push forward. You never really did anything interesting in your life, it was repetitive, pointless. You used to complain about the lack of excitement in your life, and you get the chance to do something risky and rewarding, yet hesitate? No, you were going to do it. 

You climb to the top of the building and looked before stepping up. You didn't see anyone up there, but you weren't going to give up just yet. You pushed yourself from the ladder and stood at the top. "Anyone here?" You asked, scanning the area for any signs of intelligent life. You spotted a blanket on the ground, so you knew someone had been up here. That could belong to anyone, though. A lot of homeless people in Gotham probably hid on top of buildings. This one had been abandoned for a long time, but nobody bothered to tear it down because it'd cost too much money. So, they left it here to rot. 

"If anyone's here, come out. I just want to talk." You began to walk slowly. "...I didn't come all the way up here for nothing.." you added quietly under your breath. 

You snapped your head back. There WAS somebody here. They were hiding behind some kind of box-shaped vent, or at least, that's what it used to be. You paused, anxiety lingering under your tongue. You swallowed as they began to stand up. 

You could tell a few things right away. It was a male, probably around your age. You could also tell that, whoever he was, he probably wanted to conceal his identity. He had a hood over his head, and wore sunglasses. Nobody in their right mind wore sunglasses in Gotham because it was never sunny enough for them. They were pretty dark, and obscured the upper half of his face well. He didn't ring the bell, he didn't seem like someone you've seen around before. "Who are you?" You questioned, keeping your distance from the stranger. 

He smiled oddly, putting both of his hands in his hoodie pocket. He kept a respectful distance from you, but even with his shades on you could tell he was studying you intensely. "I can't say." He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. You thought it was weird, he could have at least made up some kind of fake name. 

"Why have you been following me?" You demanded, inching closer towards him. He stood where he was, parting his lips as if to think about an answer. He looked down, mumbling a little, seeming to rehearse his answer. He seemed so awkward and strange, but there was something about him you couldn't help but feel sorry for. "I wanted to know, if you were real or not." His voice was quiet, reserved with an undertone of shyness. 

You didn't really know what to respond with. You had some smartass remarks saved at the back of your head, but it wouldn't really work here. He wasn't some intimidating, hardcore criminal, not like what you were expecting. "Are you following me because of your friend?" 

"What friend..?" He asked, glaring at you under his darkened shades. You paused, starting to get confused now. "The guy who was shot yesterday. The guy who pummeled me." 

To your surprise, he laughed at this, before covering his mouth. There was something creepily familiar to it that you just couldn't put your finger on. He shook his head. "No. I was the one who shot him." You raised a brow. You'd be lying if you said you knew exactly what to respond with, because you hadn't the slightest clue. You couldn't even be sure if he was telling the truth or not. He wasn't exactly what you were expecting, he didn't seem like a knight in shining armor.

"Y-you...were?" You titled your head, your gaze narrowing. You stepped closer, wanting to get a better look at him. Your head swam with questions, and you felt like you were going to explode. You figured he could probably tell, because he chuckled and nodded, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it with a flick of his lighter. "Yeah. Don't thank me." He smiled. It was a reasonable request, but it wasn't in your nature. You *had* to thank him, you'd feel ungrateful if you didn't. 

"Wow, I just.. I don't know what to say. You really saved my life back there. Thank you-" Before you could finish, he put a finger to his mouth and made a 'hush' noise. He dragged his cigarette to his mouth and took a puff. "What's your name?" He asked, without adding much else. You cleared your throat. 

"Harley." You said simply, crossing your arms. "What's yours?" 

He took one last puff from his cigarette and threw it down to the ground. "You know, I'll tell you tomorrow, if you want to meet me here again." He smiled warmly, taking his hands out of his pockets. "Would you..want to?" He asked, a hint of anxiousness hidden in his tone. You pondered for a moment, unsure. He seemed nice and all, but he was rather strange. Well, maybe you liked a little strange, as much as you hated to admit it. "Okay, fine. Then you'll tell me your name?" You couldn't help but hold back a smile. You liked being in his presence. He nodded. So it was agreed. You'd meet him here tomorrow. 

.

.

.

You had gotten back to work a few minutes after your initial 15 minute break, to which your boss chewed your ears off. It was fine, though. You had an exciting little adventure today, and maybe you'd see that guy again tomorrow. You had gotten home after a long shift and flopped directly into bed, skipping the news for tonight. You didn't want to question too many things tonight.. You just wanted to go to sleep. The days seemed so slow lately. So...slow.


	3. No stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You meet up with that man again to finally find out more about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if it seems rushed! This one's kind of shorter because I have plans to make the next chapter longer and more interesting.

The next morning, you had woken up. Not thinking about your job, not worrying about how you'd pay your bills. You were primarily focused on meeting up with your savior again, maybe you'd finally see a good look of his face. It was very rare for you to look forward to something, so you took the feeling by the hand and ran with it. 

You turned on the news, wanting to listen to it as you got ready for work. You had sprayed some water on your hair with a spray bottle, so that it was easier to style.   
None of the stories being told grabbed your attention until they had mentioned the infamous "Joker" loose in Gotham City. You turned your head and sat down on the couch to listen more closely. 

"We reached out for comment, and this is what the Gotham City Police department had to say." The footage cut to the sheriff, who had microphones shoved in his face, curious journalists eagerly waiting for what he had to say. "When we catch this criminal, we're going to be pushing for the death penalty. We want to let all of the sick minds of Gotham know that we will no longer let their degeneracy infest our streets. We're going to make sure that Gotham returns to the great city it once was, the great city it could be. We're going to do what Thomas Wayne would have wanted us to do."

You ran your tongue over your teeth as you thought. You didn't have time to ponder over this, you were already running late for work. You grabbed your keys before rushing out of the door. 

You took a shorter route to work, which was less safe, but quicker. You passed a strip club, and caught a glimpse of one of the performers through the door. You had always thought about taking on stripping, but you wasn't a fan of the idea of entertaining a room full of hungry men. It did pay really well, though. You shrugged the idea off, and continued walking. You didn't have time for daydreaming. You had to keep your head tucked under reality, not up in the clouds. 

You walked through the door, preparing for the day. A few of your co-workers gave you odd glances. Why were they staring at you? You shrugged it off, choosing to ignore it. Maybe they had heard about what happened the other day. You were about to tend to a table when your boss called you into his office. You didn't think anything of it at first, he probably just wanted to discuss your schedule with you. You headed into his office and had a seat. 

"We're sorry, Harley. I'm sorry." He said, though no genuine hint of sadness could be found in his words. You raised a brow, looking around the room. "What are you talking about?" You questioned, staring at him intently. "I tried calling your house phone, but nobody answered. I'm gonna have to let you go." He said quickly, as if it were nothing. You parted your lips to detest. Why? Why you? You usually showed up to work early. You never complained about taking extra shifts. Why. You. 

"I've done everything you've ever asked me.." You began, clenching your teeth as you spoke, tension rising to your chest and clumping up at the back of your throat. "Why? Why are you firing me? What did I do?" 

He sighed, laying his hands flat on his desk. "First of all, you come into work battered and bruised. Don't think I didn't notice. Don't tell me you fell, either. You've been fighting, and we can't have that kinda image." You instantly kicked into defense mode, wanting to make a case for yourself. You weren't fighting, you were ATTACKED. "But-" Before you could say your piece, he cut you off. "Secondly, Mikey tells me he saw you have a bit of a freak-out at a table. Says it looked like you were on crack." You gulped, narrowing your gaze. "That was because I-" "Lastly," He cut you off, not interested in anything you had to say. "Yesterday, you went out for a break, and was gone about two hours. Two whole goddamn hours. Look, you're a nice gal and all, you do your part. But that isn't acceptable, no way. I'm sorry, but I need someone here who's more reliable." 

You sat there silently. You knew you hadn't been gone for two hours. You knew you hadn't even been gone for thirty minutes at least. You knew he was blowing all of this up out of proportion so that he had an excuse to fire you. You knew that it would be hell trying to find another job. You knew that you weren't gonna be able to pay your rent this month. Despite knowing all of this, you got up and left without another word. 

.

.

.

Oddly enough, you didn't feel like crying. You weren't sad - if anything, you were angry. Instead of feeling like you could go to bed, curl up and cry, you felt like you could pummel your boss half to death without hesitation. You clenched your teeth and squeezed your fist. There wasn't anything you could do about it, and that's what made you the most angry. Although you did mess up, it was one mistake. One. Tiny. Mistake. It wasn't fair. You put up with so much shit day in and day out. Need to take a double shift? You'd do it. Need to pick up the slack for some of the other employees? You'd do it. You felt a sizzling anger coiling around your chest like a snake. It wasn't that you enjoyed the job, it was that you needed it. Now, You don't have it. 

You started making your way down to the building. But because of the random bombshell that's hit you right upside the head, you didn't know if you'd be able to enjoy the visit. Still, you had tons of questions that you'd like to be answered. Nobody ever went out of their way to save you, talk to you, *look* for you. You wanted to get to the bottom of it, find out who this mysterious somebody was. 

You got to the ladder, climbed it, and got on the roof. You huffed, wiping your hands on your pants, as the ladder was moist with rain. "Hello?" you called out, looking around. You spotted him sitting on the edge of the roof with his legs dangling down. He seemed to have panicked, and patted around with his hands, trying to look for his shades. He stuttered in between chuckles. "I w-wasn't...wasn't expecting you to come this early." He admitted, still not turning to face you. He stood up, yet still didn't face you. He backed away, seeming to look around for something. "You just..just.. can't. At least not right now." He croaked out, 

"Look," you crossed your arms. "If you're insecure about the way you look, I get that. But you should also know I don't care-" He laughed, shaking his head. "No. That's not it." He looked to the ground, putting his hands in his pockets. "The police are looking for me, you know. That's why I'm hiding." 

"Oh." You parted your lips, twiddling with your fingers. "Did I cause you problems? Because you shot that guy?" You asked, concerned. If you caused him trouble, you'd feel awful about it. He shook his head. "Don't worry. It has nothing to do with you." He reassured you. Then..what? 

"I wouldn't tell anyone, you know. It's the least I can do, since you saved me." You smiled, stepping slightly closer. He seemed so hesitant, fearful, almost. What did he do that was so terrible? You figured it was probably nothing too serious. Even then, you wouldn't care...right? 

"Well that's good," he pulled out a cigarette. "Because then I'd have to kill you." You stood still for a moment, wondering if you had just heard that correctly. You swallowed, taking a step back. "I'm joking!" He laughed, smacking the roof with his hand. You sighed in relief before laughing along with him.   
"You really won't tell anyone, will you?" He asked, seeming as if he were debating turning around. You nodded. "I swear." 

He turned around to face you, putting his hood down. He wasn't what you were expecting, not at all. There was something extremely familiar about him - you couldn't put your finger on it. Had you seem him around somewhere before? He was kind of cute, in a weird, obscene way. "What's your name?" You asked, tilting your head. 

He closed his eyes, seeming to wrestle with the idea of selling you. He did say he would, after all. "Arthur. Arthur fleck."


End file.
